Twenty-seven
Danica
The front door creaks open, and I’m greeted by the rich, earthy scent of home mingled with a hint of ocean air that’s followed me all the way from the San Francisco shore. Mischa winds her way through my legs, purring her hellos before shifting into a string of demanding meows. She wriggles for attention, her whiskers tickling my nose.
“All right,” I chuckle, setting her down. “What’s so important that…” My words trail off as my gaze lands on the large box sitting innocently in the middle of the living room. “Seems we’ve got a package, huh?”
As far as I know, only Anna and I have a key to the loft. Crouching beside the box, I slide a finger under the taped edge, ripping it open. The cardboard flaps fall away to reveal folds of light blue silk.
A note tumbles out amidst the wrapping, Austin’s handwriting scrawled across heavy cardstock.
D.
Can’t wait to see you in this on Saturday night—and more importantly, peel you out of it.
XOXO,
A.
Heat blooms in my cheeks, spreading like wildfire through my veins. He’s staying at the house on Alamo Square with his mother this week. I will admit, I’m a little jealous. I haven’t been inside his house, and we’ve rarely spent the night in his loft across the hall either. But these last two nights have been the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other unless he’s traveling.
A basic black dress hangs in my closet. I found it at a resale shop and was excited to wear it. I peek at the tag on this dress, and it says Oscar de la Renta. My heart stops. This is far too expensive of a gift. Nonetheless, I release the dress from its nest of tissue paper. The fabric feels like cool water slipping through my fingers as I hold it up against my body. Mischa perches regally on the armrest, watching with an air of mild interest.
A whisper of worry skates through my mind as my hand glides over the light blue silk. It’s so pretty and probably my best color. But I can’t afford this dress. It doesn’t feel right. This is the trap my mother fell into. My father would cheat on her and then send her flowers and shower her with gifts. But that’s not what this is about with Austin. It can’t be. I can’t jump to conclusions.
The tag reads 34.5. I don’t know what that means. It probably won’t fit. But there’s only one way to find out. With a deep breath, I let the dress cascade down over my frame. The zipper slides effortlessly, hugging every curve with a delicate but undeniable certainty. The slit up the side promises a flash of leg with each step, and the sweetheart neckline—well, it does exactly what it’s supposed to do, presenting the girls like they’re the evening’s special at a five-star restaurant. Not surprising since Austin worships my breasts.
My reflection in the mirror is a stranger’s, a woman draped in elegance, a figure cut from the pages of fashion magazines. It’s startling how quickly cloth can transform perception.
“Meah?” Mischa’s voice breaks the spell. She blinks at me, perhaps questioning the identity of this satin-swathed creature.
“Still me, Mish,” I assure her, reaching into the box once more. I come away with a square box with Mikimoto embossed in gold. Inside I find a choker of stunning white pearls and matching drop earrings. And then there are the shoes, nude stiletto sandals that whisper secrets of grace and poise. This is way too much.
“Would you look at that?” I breathe. There’s a certain thrill in being spoiled, in knowing someone wants to spoil you. But it’s not just the dress or the jewels or the anticipation of Austin’s hands finding the zipper. It’s the unspoken words, the promise of intimacy and connection. Why am I so weak? I should outright refuse this and return it to Austin.
“Damn you, Austin Sands,” I whisper, though my heart isn’t in the admonishment. Instead, it’s doing somersaults, crazy about him in a way that’s both exhilarating and terrifying. I try to push away those feelings, but they’re stubborn, refusing to be contained. “Easy, girl,” I say, patting my chest as if to physically calm my racing heart. “It’s just a party. We have an end, and we have to be close to it, and then he’ll move on.”
Mischa chirps and trills, a sound that’s half-question, half-challenge. As if she knows better. She knows it’s never just anything when it comes to matters of the heart. And right now, my heart belongs to the man who sent the dress, the pearls, and the promise of a night that will surely leave its mark.
Me: Should I be alarmed that you got into Anna’s loft?
Austin: LOL! No. We exchanged keys in case of emergency. Do you like the dress?
Me: Of course! It’s beautiful. But I can’t afford it.
Austin: It’s a gift from me. You don’t need to pay me back.
Me: It doesn’t feel right that you would buy me something so extravagant. I love the pearls and shoes too.
Austin: I’m a founder of the company being celebrated, and I’m successful. It is expected that my date would arrive in a designer gown, looking ravishing. And I know that dress is perfect. If it’s important to you, you can pay me back at the pace of your choosing.
Me: That sounds better. How did you know it would fit?
Austin: I may have peeked at your closet. What does it look like on you?
Me: You’ll see on Saturday night.
Austin: No picture?
I take a quick shot of my cleavage and send it off. My heart racing.
Austin returns a photo of his crotch.
Austin: See what you do to me?
Austin: I know what this is going to sound like, but I miss you. After my mom goes to bed, can I come by? I can’t stay.
I should turn him down. But I can’t help myself.
Me: Yes, please. I’ll be here, naked and waiting.
Austin: Mom better go to bed early tonight.
I fidget with the strap of my purse as Marisa and I approach Bubbles. Austin’s absence tugs at me. We had a great time last night, but then he was gone again, and I miss him. Much more than you should , I remind myself.
“Ready to forget about work and have some fun?” Marisa nudges me with her elbow.
“Absolutely,” I affirm, pushing thoughts of Austin to the back of my mind. “Tonight is all about us.”
“Danica! Over here!” I follow the sound of the voice and realize it’s Emerson Healy waving from a booth bathed in soft light. A woman with chestnut hair who looks familiar is grinning by her side.
“Looks like it’s going to be a bigger night than we thought,” Marisa whispers.
“Hey, Emerson.” I greet her, sliding into the booth as she beckons. My new boss is not afraid to blur the lines between professional and personal, and though we didn’t plan this, sitting here now feels right, comfortable even.
Emerson hugs me. “This is my best friend, Caroline Sullivan. Her husband is Mason, our managing partner.”
As I smile, it all clicks together for me. She is Caroline Arnault Sullivan. Her parents are Silicon Valley royalty. They founded Sandy Systems back in the eighties, and Caroline now runs Metro Composition Cosmetics.
“So great to meet you.” I turn to Marisa. “This is my best friend, Marisa Smythe. Marisa, this is Emerson Healy, my new boss, and Caroline Sullivan. Both of their husbands are founders of SHN.”
Caroline laughs. “They were lost until they brought Emerson on as a partner, and I came with the deal.”
“Nice to meet you,” Marisa says. “Danica’s told me so much about you.”
“Only good things, I hope,” Emerson teases.
“Only the best,” I assure her with a laugh, feeling lighter with every moment.
Emerson orders another round of drinks, and I have to admire how she seems to bring people together. Conversation flows easily, punctuated by shared laughter and the pop of a champagne cork from a nearby table.
“Are you out celebrating your new job?” Caroline asks.
“Yes!” Marisa says.
I hold up my hand. “I don’t want to talk about work tonight. It just reminds me how much I need to get done. Marisa works for the Board of Supervisors. She knows all the real gossip.”
Caroline and Emerson’s eyes grow wide.
“Marisa, you scoot over here by me.” Caroline raises her glass, her toast enveloping us in warmth. “To unexpected evenings!”
“To unexpected evenings,” we echo, our glasses meeting in the middle with a satisfying clink.
For a fleeting second, I imagine what Austin might be doing. But I push the thought away. He’s entertaining his mother, and tonight is about laughter and friends.
“Cheers,” I whisper, taking a sip of the bubbly drink, letting its effervescence chase away my longing.
Emerson and Caroline pepper Marisa with questions about her work, and she tells them about one of the supervisors she dated briefly. He’s considered one of San Francisco’s most eligible bachelors. He’s a fifth-generation native of the City and lives on generational wealth. Unfortunately, he has a small penis and doesn’t know what to do with it. That has Caroline and Marisa laughing so hard that people are staring.
“You’re not the first to say that,” Caroline says through her laughter.
We laugh and talk and the hours flow by, but it is a weeknight, so eventually our evening at Bubbles winds down.
“Marisa, you simply must come to the EnergiFusion party,” Emerson says, her voice carrying over the last remnants of ambient jazz.
Marisa glances at me, uncertainty flickering in her gaze. “I don’t know. That’s Danica’s thing…”
“Trust me,” Caroline chimes in. “There are some great single guys at EnergiFusion.”
The temptation dangles before Marisa like a carrot, and I can see her resolve wavering. I bite my lip, feeling a pang of awkwardness at the thought of dragging Marisa along to a party where I’m merely a guest myself. But before I can voice my concerns, Emerson’s already tapping away on her phone.
“Done!” She looks up, beaming at Marisa. “You’re in. Crystal Capriotti is organizing the whole shindig, and she owes me a favor or two. Consider yourself officially on the list.”
“Wow, Emerson, that’s… Thank you.” A smile blooms across Marisa’s face.
With that settled, we part ways with hugs and cheek kisses.
“Let’s make a day of it on Saturday,” Marisa suggests as we walk back. “Blowouts, nails, pedicures—the works.”
“Absolutely,” I agree, imagining us pampered and prepped, ready to take on the glittering world of EnergiFusion together.
Home feels both empty and comforting when I finally arrive. Mischa greets me with a throaty meow. Slipping off my shoes, I curl up on the couch and dig out my phone.
Me: Hey. Marisa and I ran into Emerson and Caroline Sullivan. Emerson invited Marisa to the party. Hope that’s cool.
Seconds tick by, each one stretched thin by anticipation. Then the phone vibrates, his response lighting up the room.
Austin: Can’t wait to see you. And bring an overnight bag. ? ? I’ve missed you.
Heart fluttering, giddy warmth spreads through me. I clutch the phone to my chest, a stupidly wide grin plastered on my face.